


Rituals

by Zerrat



Series: blades [2]
Category: League of Legends
Genre: F/F, Sword Care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 18:56:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3260771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zerrat/pseuds/Zerrat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Riven cares for Irelia's blades. She didn't expect it to have such an interesting effect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rituals

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thegadgetfish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegadgetfish/gifts).



> First posted [here](http://zerratwritesstuff.tumblr.com/post/97374584103/rituals-1-1-rivelia-fanfiction-nsfw). Cleaned it up for AO3!

Riven cared for that broken blade of hers _constantly_.

Every night they spent together at the Institute, the woman would be cleaning it, sharpening and polishing the scarred edge with careful, sure hands. She maintained this routine even on days she'd not used the blade. It was an almost reverent fixed point in a life that seemed transient as the wind itself. 

Eccentricities aside, the routine had been something Irelia had come to appreciate in the long weeks since she'd met Riven in the abandoned training room. At first she'd been somewhat puzzled, for all that she knew of the strange bond between Riven and her sword. 

Riven cared for it more than she cared for herself, spending hours maintaining it, devoting herself to it to an even greater degree than Irelia did her own. It was odd - Riven's life was not intrinsically linked to the broken blade, not in the same way Irelia's was, and yet still the woman poured over the thing in the quiet evenings. 

When Irelia had asked - well, _demanded,_ she hadn't quite mastered the fine line between Noxian bluntness and blatant rudeness - Riven had merely shrugged. 

"Helps me think," Riven had said, not offering anything else by way of explanation. Irelia had raised an eyebrow, watching the woman wipe a cloth down the flat of her bade. 

_Helps her think,_ Irelia had repeated silently, shaking her head, before saying aloud, "I doubt you require additional excuses to brood."

Riven's lips had curled in a guilty-looking smile, and in spite of herself, Irelia had mirrored the expression. Her eyes flickered down to the sword in Riven's grasp, and the scarred hands that maintained it so well, and felt a prickle of undeniable desire. 

"Helps me think about other things," Riven had finally added, following Irelia's gaze. Cautiously, she'd reached out, trailing two rough fingertips across the back of Irelia's hand. Irelia hadn't been able to feel it then, the sensation only a ghost of pressure in her mind, but she'd shivered regardless. 

After that night, Irelia had fallen in with Riven's routine, more for convenience and a shared activity than anything. She'd care for her blades, setting her whetstones up on the bench in Riven's sparse quarters, occupying the woman's space without asking. As she worked, she listed to the sound of life and movement not far away, to the sound of Riven absently humming what had to be a Noxian military cadence. 

It was unsettling.

Of course, Riven was Noxian and would always _be_ one, no matter her self-imposed exile. Irelia exhaled, trying to ignore the spark of anger that reignited in response, forcing herself to appreciate the company instead. 

After a few moments, Riven lapsed into silence, and slowly, Irelia began to relax. 

She watched Riven out the corner of her eye, distracted, watching the woman's calloused, scarred hands work over the jagged blade. Truly, Riven knew her way around a sword far better than she knew her way around woman - though she was hardly unsatisfactory. There was something oddly comforting, hypnotic even about the way she moved -

Riven looked across at her then, resting her chin on the palm of her hand and heaving what had to be the longest sigh Irelia had ever heard pass her lips. 

"You're not doing it right."

Irelia stiffened, unable to help the way her lip had curled in anger as she glared across at Riven. "I'm not sure _you_ can be the judge of that." She watched Riven rise to her feet, pressing her lips together in a flat line, wary. "What do you mean?"

Riven didn't _ask._ Perhaps she felt as though she had no need to, given the deeply personal connection they'd established while sparring. Without a further word, Riven simply reached out and plucked one of the blades from the air, her hands steady, warm and gentle - Irelia's breath caught in her throat. 

Riven's fingers carefully traced the blade as she moved back, a sort of absent, casual motion that raised alarm bells - she had no idea what she was doing to Irelia. Riven seemed entirely unaware that Irelia had gone stock still, her lungs frozen in something that felt between panic and exhilaration, that just the brush of skin against the blades was enough to... 

There was a reason people _did not touch the blades._ Irelia had never stood for such a thing, her sense of discomfort at allowing her greatest strength to be exposed as her fatal weakness far outweighing any desire to 'experiment'. Caring for it herself had been one thing - like attending like - but this? Riven had done so once previously, weeks before Irelia had challenged her to a duel and they'd spent a full afternoon enjoying the pleasant fallout of crossing blades. 

She still remembered it with such vivid detail. 

Irelia didn't raise a protest, her mouth dry and no longer seeming to work for her. Perhaps it was more that she didn't want it to work. Every fibre of her being had suddenly fixated on the sight of her blade, her soul, cradled in Riven's careful hands. 

She inhaled sharply, silently, watching Riven's fingertips trace and follow the ornate grooves of her blade. The sensation mirrored on her flesh, just as surely as if Riven was tracing each bump of her vertebrae at the nape of her neck, gentle and lingering. She bit down on her tongue, her breath shallow, sweat prickling on her brow and at the small of her back. 

She wanted nothing more than to tip her head back and enjoy it, because sensation without a spar, it was -

"You've been missing a section," Riven said, her voice low and startling Irelia from the reverie she'd fallen into. Those warm, roughened fingers traced just beneath the edge, her touch getting a little heavier. "Right near the curve."

Irelia didn't reply, still completely lost for words and unable to process exactly what was happening - only that she loved every moment. 

She watched Riven's fingers move back to the edged flat of the blade, drank in the intensity of the woman's expression. It felt good, to have such attention paid to a vital part of her - a part that so few people understood. The gods were kind, because Riven wasn't looking at Irelia's expression, instead leaning in to examine the designs of the blade. 

Irelia could feel her warm breath across the metal, just as easily as she might have felt it on her skin before her fall at the Placidium. Riven had not even needed to reform that broken blade of hers, had not needed to put her own soul on the line. Irelia swallowed thickly, nearly swaying as Riven's fingers tracked along further, grazing across the metal so achingly slow. 

Her back arched slightly as Riven's touch lingered on a particularly complex etching, sensation moving down her spine in lazy, maddening waves of pleasure. It was both torturous and something Irelia never wanted to stop, no matter that her her body felt aflame - that she knew she had to say _something_. She still hadn't figured out how to work her mouth again, her jaw locked and only barely keeping herself from making the wrong sort of sound entirely. 

A deep, persistent ache had started up between Irelia's legs, and she shifted, trying to ease it. It didn't help in the slightest. 

Riven's fingers moved back toward the edge, quickly, and Irelia's eyes nearly rolled back into her head as the woman gave the edge - just barely short of cutting herself - a firm, testing stroke. Irelia could not help it. She jerked at the touch, and no matter how hard she bit down on her lower lip to stay silent, the movement drew Riven's startled attention. 

Those red eyes were cautious and confused, flickering up and down Irelia's rigid body, finally seeing everything. Finally _understanding._

"Oh." Riven wet her lips, and that's all she said of it. Her fingers had stopped their relentless study, but still they lingered, light against the metal. It was driving Irelia mad. 

"Continue," Irelia forced out, and she hated that it came out so pleading. She _was_ desperate, though. She needed this more than she could possibly communicate. "Don't stop."

Riven leaned forward, her lips gentle and yielding against Irelia's own, more reassuring than passionate. Irelia pressed into the kiss, hard and wanting and desperate for more, before Riven pulled away. 

"I have an idea." Riven stepped back, moving to taking her seat on the wide chair she'd been using before. She shifted, making room, and the curve of her lips was so infuriatingly Noxian that Irelia almost wanted to tell her to forget it. 

Riven's fingers grazed the grooves of her blade again, soft and lingering in a way that made her ache so terribly - 

Irelia swallowed her anger, crossing the room without a further word and claiming the spot between Riven's legs. She pressed her back up against that hard, sinewy body, content to allow Riven to nuzzle into the side of her neck, until the woman's lips were pressed up close to her ear. 

"Tell me what you want, then." Riven's breath was warm, and even if that barely registered in Irelia's mind, the words sent electricity straight to her toes. 

"Sharpen it. Care for it. Just like you do..." Irelia looked down to the rune sword, carefully propped up against the side of the chair. "Just like you care for that."

She felt Riven's breath hitch just a little at the order, and in that moment, perhaps she truly understood a little more of the nature of Irelia's strange existence. It made Irelia feel vulnerable, _weak_ , but when Riven repositioned herself slightly, resting the blade against Irelia's thighs and reaching for her supplies...

Irelia found she didn't mind at all. 

She tilted her head, allowing Riven to trail her tongue in lazy, hungry patterns against her skin, raising marks with her teeth, sucking hard enough sometimes that Irelia felt it without the blade. Her body was a hot, hard expanse behind Irelia, stable and sure, but it was her hands that held every shred of Irelia's attention now. 

Irelia exhaled shakily as Riven brushed her fingers across the decorative flat of the blade, exploring each design with a gentle touch. That was nice, Irelia mused, heat unfurling in her stomach and almost deciding that it was perfect itself - but that had been before Riven had set to work with her fine brushes. Irelia had arched, groaning wordlessly at the relentless contact. 

She couldn't breathe - fortunately, she hardly needed to. 

Painstakingly, Riven went through her ritual, brushing the blade free of dust, dirt and checking for rust, murmuring soft words of encouragement in Irelia's ear while she worked. Long before the end, Irelia felt stiflingly hot beneath her clothing, sweat slicking her hair to the back of her neck, shifting and biting down on her lip just to stifle the moans that threatened to bubble free. 

Somewhere through it all, she felt Riven tug at her belt, loosening the drawstrings of her breeches with now-practiced ease. Riven's breath was harsh against Irelia's ear, her touch along the side of the blade languid and almost sensual, before she leaned to the side and took up her whetstone. 

"Hold your blade steady," Riven told her, her voice low and hoarse against Irelia's ear. Irelia had only just enough time to comply before the woman moved, applying that whetstone to the wickedly curved edge of the weapon.

She jolted as the sensation went like a razor through her - and that was when Riven slipped her free hand down her breeches, pressing those damn fingers deep inside. Irelia did groan then, long and low, pressing herself back hard against Riven, completely breathless and so sure she was going to go mad. Each deep stroke seemed to follow along with every movement of the whetstone against the edge of Irelia's blade, fast and hard and long -

Far too soon, Irelia came with a bitten off cry, rocking back hard into Riven's body and riding out the shockwaves of her orgasm until she felt completely sated - and drained. She sagged bonelessly against Riven's chest, mentally and physically exhausted, watching the woman wordlessly apply an oiled cloth to the blade. The gentle movement of Riven's hands were soothing, and Irelia's breath finally began to slow as she watched the woman complete the job. 

For a long while, Riven was silent, pressing her lips behind Irelia's ear, lazy and self-satisfied. 

_Noxians,_ Irelia thought, but for Riven, it was oddly affectionate. She turned to kiss the woman's lips, but then frowned as it merely earned her a smirk. Somewhat off-guard, Irelia raised an eyebrow. 

This would have to be good. 

"You do realise we've got another three to go, don't you?" Riven asked then, her voice low and wicked as she gestured to the rest. 

A hot thrill ran down Irelia's exhausted body, and she couldn't help but groan under her breath.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're wondering how many sword polishing jokes I made while writing this, try "all of them".


End file.
